Life Everlasting

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes.”

  “And it also creates a conflict of interest between Rena and me in seeking advice from you. As Rena’s lawyer, you want the tape to disappear or materialize in your desk drawer instead of mine. As my lawyer, you don’t want me to do anything that will cause me to lose my license.”

  “I’m not going to let either of you do anything illegal or unethical. That’s not the way I play the game.”

  “Okay. But what next?”

  “Bring Rena into your office and put us on the speakerphone.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “I’m still working on it.”

  Alexia walked to the reception area. Rena was standing in the middle of the room.

  “Where’s the videotape?” she demanded in a low voice so the receptionist couldn’t hear. “I need to pick it up.”

  “It’s in a drawer in my desk.”

  Alexia led Rena back to her office. Gwen glanced up as they passed her door but kept typing.

  “Have a seat,” Alexia said. “I have Sean Pruitt on the phone.”

  “I just left his office. All I need is the videotape—”

  “There’s a problem with that,” the Charleston lawyer interjected. “Alexia has been served with a subpoena to turn the tape over to the police. There is also one outstanding against you.”

  Rena stared at the phone and her face turned white. “How do they know about it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Rena turned toward Alexia. “Did you give it to them?”

  “No,” Alexia replied. “Do you have another copy?”

  “Of course not. That would be stupid.”

  Sean continued, “Listen, Rena. I’m going to file papers in court to try and block their attempt to make Alexia turn over the video. This all happened in the past few minutes, so there’s nothing else to tell you except that I’m going to fight it as hard as we can.”

  “Give the tape to me,” Rena replied. “Then Alexia won’t have anything to turn over.”

  “That won’t work for two reasons. First, Alexia will be subject to questioning and can’t commit perjury if asked about the location of the tape at the time the detective served the subpoena. Second, Alexia accepted service on your behalf for an identical subpoena requiring you to turn over the tape. Right now, I can file a response that you don’t have it. If you take the tape from Alexia, things get a lot more complicated.”

  Alexia watched Rena for signs of an outburst or meltdown. She simply looked stunned.

  “I have money,” she said slowly. “Maybe it’s time for me to run.”

  “No!” both Alexia and Sean spoke at once.

  “We can’t ever advise you to do that,” Pruitt continued. “But the situation is still uncertain. There is a lot that can be done legally to help you.”

  “Not if they get the tape!” Rena shot back. “Who is going to believe me when I tell the truth about what happened to the fat deputy? All the police want to do is find someone to blame!”

  Sean kept his voice level. “They want a legitimate explanation of what happened. I beat the charges against Henry Quinton because he wasn’t guilty. It’s the same with you.”

  Rena put her head in her hands and didn’t say anything. Alexia resisted the urge to wade into the conversation; Rena only needed to hear one voice of counsel. Sean spoke.

  “My next step is to file the motion to quash and try to find out what the police already know about the tape.”

  Rena looked up at Alexia and spoke in a subdued voice. “If Jeffrey gave it to them, they wouldn’t be trying to get the copy from you and me, would they?”

  “Probably not.”

  “What was that?” Sean asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  Rena repeated her question.

  “Has anything happened to make you think he would contact the police?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then it may be Quinton,” Sean replied. “I’ll make a quick trip to the jail and find out. In the meantime, the tape stays with Alexia.”

  The phone clicked off before Rena could protest or ask another question. She looked forlornly at Alexia.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  “Let your lawyer take care of it. That’s why you hired him.”

  Alexia looked down at the verse she’d written on her legal pad when Ted came to see her and considered reading it to Rena. The young woman needed it as much as Alexia did. Trying to decide on a way to broach the subject, the lawyer cleared her throat.

  “Could I see the tape?” Rena asked before Alexia could speak.

  “Why?”

  Rena shrugged. “To face my tormentor.”

  Alexia leaned over and opened the desk drawer. She picked up the tape and held it up. “Let’s hope it stays right there,” she said.

  Rena stood up. “I’m going home. Do you think I should call Jeffrey and ask him—”

  “No,” Alexia responded. “You heard Sean. Let him take care of it.”

  As soon as Rena left, Alexia sat at her desk for a few seconds and then buzzed Gwen.

  “Please, come here.”

  “Is it safe?” the secretary asked when she appeared.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to start acting like Ralph Leggitt? You know, you set up your own firm, and the next thing I know you’re asking me to fix your coffee and take your clothes to the cleaners.”

  Alexia smiled. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “No, but I want to weed out any of those tendencies before they get a chance to sprout.”

  “Let me tell you why I was on edge.”

  Gwen sat down and listened, interrupting with several questions about Jeffrey and Rena that revealed the same suspicions that had crossed Alexia’s mind.

  “There may have been something going on between them at one time,” Alexia said, “but now it’s a mess. I suspect Rena is stirring the pot without realizing what she’s cooking. Until this business about the tape is settled, I want to open a safe-deposit box and keep it in a safe place.”

  “I’ll call the bank. Who else will be a signatory?”

  Alexia hesitated. “You, I guess. But under no circumstances are you to give Rena the tape unless you hear it from my lips.”

  Later that afternoon, Alexia met with a prospective client. Even in her temporary office, Alexia’s practice continued to grow—proof that the key to an expanding law practice did not depend on fancy furniture. All the new clients who had contacted her since she left Leggitt & Freeman had been referred by other clients and therefore entered the door with a preexisting level of trust in Alexia. When she finished the intake information for the latest client, Alexia placed the papers beside the computer monitor on Gwen’s desk.

  “Please open a new file for this woman and give it to me. Her husband has already filed for divorce, and the answer is due next week. I don’t want to ask for an extension.”

  “Okay,” Gwen said. “And Sean Pruitt called again. We talked for a minute or two. Is that Rhett Butler accent for real?”

  “If it’s not, he’s a better actor than Clark Gable.”

  Gwen handed her the slip with the phone message on it. “You probably have his number memorized by now, but here it is. How old is lawyer Pruitt? It’s hard to tell over the phone.”

  “Sorry,” Alexia replied. “He’s about my age.”

  Gwen sniffed. “You’re going after an older man. Why can’t I investigate a younger one?”

  Alexia smiled. “Be my guest. He drives a silver Ferrari.”

  “I’m not sure what that looks like.”

  “It sits as close to the ground as a go-cart, and everybody stares at you when you pass by. Used ones go for over a hundred thousand.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened. “My left knee is stiff in cold weather and makes it hard to get down low, but I could take a pain pill before going for a ride.”

  Alexia pointed to the paperwork. “Please open the file. Then
you can go on the Internet and look at Ferraris. I can see you cruising along the Battery on a Saturday night.”

  Alexia went into her office and returned Sean’s call.

  “What else can happen today?” she asked.

  “Just research. I don’t think the motion to quash is going to fly unless we can assert that you’re also representing Rena on potential criminal charges.”

  “I stepped between her and the detective from Mitchell County several times. Would that count?”

  “Maybe. Neither of us has filed an appearance as counsel for her because no charges have been filed in any court, so there’s no public record identifying her attorney. The slate is still blank, and we can fill it in with whomever we choose.”

  Alexia felt a twinge of conscience and sighed. “But the reason she hired you was to handle the criminal aspect of her problems. I specifically told her I wasn’t a criminal-defense lawyer and wouldn’t represent her in a criminal prosecution.”

  “You could change your mind.”

  “But would that relate back to before I received the subpoena?”

  “That’s unclear, but your role is bolstered by your previous interaction on Rena’s behalf with the Mitchell County authorities. I recommend we include the attorney-client privilege in the motion, and let the judge sort it out.”

  “Would I need to sign the motion?”

  “Yes.”

  Alexia hesitated. “As my attorney, what do you advise me to do?”

  Sean chuckled. “Get a third opinion.”

  “I don’t know anybody to call about this type of issue.”

  “Did anybody with your old firm leave the door open for future interaction?”

  “Not really, and none of them is a criminal-defense lawyer. They’d be trying to remember a lecture from law school.”

  “Then I’ll give it more thought and let you know. How much longer will you be at your office?”

  Alexia looked at the clock. It was almost 5:00 PM. “About an hour. The receptionist goes home in a few minutes, so I’ll give you my cell phone number.”

  29

  Be thy intents wicked or charitable, thou com’st in such a questionable shape that I will speak to thee.

  HAMLET, ACT 1, SCENE 4

  Rena couldn’t sit still. The possibility that the videotape might soon be a lead story on the evening news pushed her beyond the limits of self-control. She paced across the kitchen floor. Several times she banged her fist on the wooden surface of the island. Finally, she stopped and leaned over the sink to splash cold water on her face. Patting her cheeks dry and feeling slightly calmer, she decided to go upstairs and sit in a bubble bath. She turned away from the sink.

  Blocking her way to the dining room and the stairway beyond stood Baxter.

  Rena studied him closely. Every detail of his appearance was more real than even a life-size wax statue. The slight crease on the left side of his jaw, the way his hair parted slightly higher than normal on his head, the position of his hands with his thumbs inside his fists as he stood motionless—all added to the sense of realism. Barefooted, he wore the pajamas Rena gave him the previous Christmas.

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Rena said casually.

  Baxter blinked. And Rena felt fear. Always before, he’d been as lifeless as a mannequin.

  Suddenly, Rena doubted everything that had happened during the past weeks and months. The hike along the wooded trail to Double Barrel Falls. The struggle at the edge of the cliff. Her husband lying motionless and presumed dead on the rocks as she crept forward to retrieve the keys to the SUV from his pocket. The maddening sound of the hospital ventilator that breathed for Baxter when the doctors did not know he could breathe on his own. The encounters with Giles Porter, the grotesquely scarred detective. Her entire world turned into a question mark.

  She stepped back. Baxter, his expression not changing, stepped forward.

  Rena suspected it might be possible to live in an unending world of delusion. But if all was false, then what was true? She stared hard at the figure, trying to bore a hole through him with her gaze. He remained impenetrable. Real in appearance, yet unnatural in conduct. If actually present in the room, he should speak—greet her, curse her. Not that she wanted him to do either. Communication from him would validate her insanity. By remaining silent, he remained an enigma. Rena decided to risk all.

  “Say something,” she demanded in a voice that trembled slightly.

  Baxter’s lips parted. She could see his teeth, including the crooked pair on the bottom row. She held her breath. His mouth opened wider. His tongue licked his lips. She could sense the words about to come forth. Rena shut her eyes to absorb the impact and waited. No sounds came. She opened her eyes.

  She was alone.

  She reached out and steadied herself against the island. Shaken by the persistence of Baxter’s appearance, she crept forward to the place where he’d stood and looked down at the floor. She knelt and touched the place where his feet moved, checking for a hint of residual warmth. The floor was cool. She was still living in the real world. Baxter remained an interloper from another realm.

  At nearly 5:30 PM, Gwen stuck her head into Alexia’s office.

  “I thought you’d already left,” Alexia said.

  “I had to open the file you gave me,” Gwen paused, “and do some research on Ferraris. There are so many different models, and they only make a few thousand of each one. Which one does Sean Pruitt drive?”

  “I have no idea. It was silver with a tiny horse on the trunk and the hood.”

  “They all have the horse, and they’re all expensive.”

  “And I didn’t tell you about his office. It’s in a historic house owned by his family for generations. It’s three stories tall, and he lives on the top floor. The parlor where we met was filled with antiques and fancy Oriental rugs. The car is parked in a garage at the rear of the property. We had to cross a courtyard with a massive fountain in the middle and incredible landscaping to get to it.”

  “You’re making all this up.”

  Alexia shook her head. “No, it’s all true. He’s smart but a bit odd. I think his grandfather married a cousin.”

  “How close a cousin?”

  “I made that part up,” Alexia admitted.

  Gwen nodded. “If he makes a trip to see you or Rena, let me know, and I’ll put him under personal surveillance. I admit he’s too young for me, but I have two nieces who deserve to marry a rich guy. They wouldn’t need medication to ride in a fancy sports car or climb three flights of stairs with bags of groceries in their hands.”

  After Gwen left, Alexia logged onto the computer and began researching the subpoena issue herself. She found a relevant case and was scrolling down the screen reading the majority opinion by the court when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID.

  “I’m still here,” she said in answering. “I’m reading an interesting case by a divided court on the subpoena issue.”

  “With Judge Fain writing for the majority?” Sean Pruitt responded.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “According to this, we might win,” Alexia said.

  “Yep. I’ll e-mail the motion to you tomorrow so you can sign it. Leave the brief in support of the motion to me, but I’ll need you at the hearing. When will you be available?”

  Alexia opened the screen for her calendar and gave him several dates.

  “Is there any chance you could bring the motion to Charleston on Friday?” Pruitt asked.

  “Hm, I’d rather send it back via overnight courier.”

  “Would it make a difference if I took you out to dinner at The Cypress?”

  Alexia hesitated. Pruitt’s antebellum eccentricities amused her, but she felt allegiance to her developing relationship with Ted, especially after their time on the beach.

  “No thanks. I’m dating a man here in Santee,” she replied simply.

  “If you like, we can con
sider it a business meeting. I thought The Cypress would be nice.”

  Alexia loved the fish at The Cypress, a Bay Street restaurant. She hesitated. A business dinner was not a date.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Seven at my office. We’ll leave the motion here and go to the restaurant.”

  On her way home, Alexia detoured to the Sandy Flats Church. Several days had passed since she last slipped into the back of the sanctuary to listen to Ted play. His truck was parked at the old parsonage, but she went directly to the sanctuary. Pushing open the door, she met the music minister in the narthex.

  “Hey,” she said. “Am I too late for the concert?”

  “I wasn’t playing. I’ve been checking repairs I did earlier today to a couple of pews. After a hundred years or so, the backs begin to protest. If they break, we’d probably be sued.”

  “I’m not here looking for lawsuits. Piano music is my preference.”

  Ted rubbed his hands together. “What would you like to hear?”

  “One of the Études Tableau would be nice.”

  “I can handle that.”

  Alexia followed Ted into the cool sanctuary, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window.

  “Do you want me to turn on the lights?” he asked.

  “Not unless you need them.”

  Ted smiled. “I like it better in the dark. It makes the sense of hearing a tiny bit sharper.”

  He went around the altar rail to the piano. Alexia sat on the front pew closest to him and admired his strong profile. He focused on the piano, then began to play.

  The melodies, countermelodies, and suspended harmonies woven by Rachmaninoff resulted in some of the most beautiful piano music ever written. As with many things Russian, the composition bore an element of sadness, but the sorrow was so beautifully adorned that it was transformed into an antidote for suffering. It melted the heart, and Alexia let the music penetrate her soul. When Ted finished, she held on to the lingering sound of the last note as long as possible.

  “Wonderful,” she said simply. “I hope someday my mother can hear you play. It would make her weep.”

  Ted ran his fingers through his hair and stood up.